Our Midnights, Our Mornings
by fEmAleNoMad
Summary: It's 2001. The war never ended, just ebbed and flowed. Assistant Secretary to the DMLE Peter Pettigrew has more than enough problems with the splinter factions of the Death Eaters, but a young red-headed Auror has incited a deep-seated passion, and obsession. As their affair continues, it brings to light secrets from the past that could tear the last vestiges of the Order apart.
1. Happy Hour

Monday usually meant more paperwork, and more irritating meetings with the aurors. Usually Scrigemour had some excuse or the other as to why one of his newest recruits broke protocol, or some of the senior members like Shacklebot decided to skip filing a report altogether.

"We're at war, Peter," was all that bastard could say, tutting as if it was self-evident.

"Don't you think I know that? You're not the only one fighting it." Pettigrew hissed. "That's not an excuse to let everything go tits up. If your department can't be arsed to do it's own work, then you need to sort them out."

Rufus hadn't said much after that, just glared at him and left.

It wasn't easy being the Assistant Secretary for the DMLE. There were too many fires to put out and not enough resources to handle them all.

Peter checked his calendar, it was the 25th of July. He was going to have to think of something to get for Harry's birthday. It was going to be a big one after all, Peter could hardly remember his own twenty-first birthday. The war had made sure of that.

Peter was set to have a meeting with Auror Jones about updates on a difficult case.

While the war never officially ended, it never really escalated to the point where the Dark Lord could claim victory. Of course, he had become extremely formidable in the early 80s, but he had become unexpectedly weakened and never recovered. Even when he returned from his absence, it didn't stop his Death Eaters from creating their own factions and vying for power.

In their weakened state, the Order was able to dissuade some of the lower tier members and weaken their support with the Beings and magical creatures.

Now it seems some of the more extreme factions of the Death Eaters were purposely trying to disobey the Statute of Secrecy in their attacks. There was going to be a point where even mass obliviation wouldn't cut it.

There was a knock on Peter's office door.

"Come in," he replied distractedly, still reading the latest report on a series of robberies in magical Birmingham.

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir. I'm here in Auror Jones' place. She debriefed me earlier, you two were discussing the possibility of reprisals?"

Peter looked up from his desk to take in the young Auror in front of him. He was tall and lean, broad shoulders and muscular arms and legs. His skin was ruddy and freckled from frequent sun exposure, and his eyes gleamed with a bright blue intensity. His hair was thick and a deep shade of copper, falling effortlessly around his face.

Peter took a deep breath, taking in this young man's impressive form and hoping he wasn't blushing.

"Yes, please have a seat Auror…"

"Weasley."

"Is that so? Any relation to Arthur?"

It was certainly the young man's turn to blush. "Yeah, that's my dad."

Peter nodded. "Good man, Arthur. One of the best. Anyway onto business. We have reason to believe some of the Purity League, individuals who were the most extreme of You-Know-Who's followers, are planning on breaking the Statute of Secrecy as a step towards magical supremacy. You-Know-Who has on the record stated he is against that idea since it would make the conflict an international matter and the ICW would get involved. We've recently captured one of their own, Rabastan Lestrange, and the group's been rather quiet as of late. I know you Aurors have a team that's been working on possible next moves?"

"Yes," Weasley's brow furrowed and he leaned forward, his hand on his face. "We were thinking that the League isn't going to be able to come up with anything big now that their leader is in Azkaban. So their either going to stick with low level attacks, or they'll scramble. Seeing as they've not acted since, we were thinking it's the latter but…"

"I don't like the sound of that," Peter interrupted

"I think they might try to bargain with us, maybe capture one of our own in exchange. So we are going to have to get some men on a few officials who might be suspected targets, just in case."

Weasley fidgeted in his seat, his limbs were too tall for the wicker chairs Peter had carelessly used to sit visitors for years. He looked like an oversized scarecrow in a dollhouse, but somehow he looked so damn charming.

"I see," Peter cleared his throat. "Well, who do you have in mind as some of the officials in need of protection?"

"The Minister, Of course," began Weasley, "Then Scrigemour, then the rest of the Department Heads, though the Unspeakables are refusing to cooperate,"

"I'll see what I can do,"

Weasley grinned. "Cheers, mate. I mean Sir. And I'll keep you posted on any updates in the next few days."

"Do you think there will be any more attacks?" Peter asked.

"Possibly, but we don't have any leads yet. Our sources are a bit less generous than they used to be." Weasley admitted sheepishly.

Peter snorted, "Ain't that the truth. Well I think that's all we can do for now, but thanks for stopping by Weasley. May I know why Auror Jones decided not to show up for this meeting? I'll need it for my report."

"Didn't you know? She's on maternity leave."

Peter stopped writing. "Ah, I hadn't noticed she was expecting."

"Really? She'd gotten quite big, and irritable. It would have been hard not to notice."

"Now Mr. Weasley, you should never comment on a woman's weight." Peter replied drily.

Startled, Weasley blushed.

"Seeing as we'll evidently be having more of these meetings, I think it's best we let go of the formalities and try to forge a closer work relationship. From now on you can call me Peter, if you'd like."

"Oh, of course. I'm Ron." He got up from his chair and extended his hand. Unable to hide his amusement, Peter smiled and shook it.

"I think we're done here. If there's any other business you may have, feel free to send me a memo. I'm not as scary as Madam Bones."

Ron laughed, "No, from what Scrigemour says, you're a bit less of a ponce then I'd imagined." Realizing he'd made a terrible error, he smacked himself. "Bloody hell, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that."

Peter chuckled. "It's perfectly alright. In fact, to prove to you I'm not a ponce, why don't you join me for drinks after work? There's a nice pub a couple of blocks over that has a Happy Hour special. My treat."

"Sounds brilliant. I'm holding you to it though. Meet me at the atrium around six." Ron gave him a bright smile, his white crooked teeth making his face even more handsome.

When the young man left his office, Peter couldn't believe his luck. He giggled despite himself. He certainly hadn't been so bold before, and certainly not with someone so young. Hopefully he didn't misunderstand Ron's intentions. Perhaps he should remain impersonal and professional.

At the bar, Ron was certainly no slouch. He had taken up the offer of free drinks readily and with such a large build, he could easily out drink Peter, who was certainly competitive enough to try and keep up. It almost reminded him of his days drinking with Sirius, who certainly paced himself more, but stuck with the hard stuff.

"You know, I'm glad you asked me out, Pete. Can I call you Pete? Are we at that level?"

Peter gulped. "Yes, I think we are." He was nursing his most recent pint and he felt he had passed the point of pleasantly buzzed.

"After Hogwarts, it seems like all my friends have no time to go out, they all just coupled up and stay in. Their excuse is the war, but the war's been going on for what? Thirty years now? What's the point of living if you can't live. I've already lost a brother to the war. I've lost friends. And damn it, if I have to lose my sense of independence then haven't the Death Eaters won?"

Peter raised his pint, "Amen to that. And it certainly isn't as bad as it was in the old days."

Ron interrupted, "That's because they killed everyone, and ran out of appropriate targets. We hardly had any Muggleborns when I went to Hogwarts. The only one we had in our whole year was a girl in my House, but we weren't that close. Did you have any?"

"My best friend's wife is a Muggleborn, she was in our year."

"Is that so?" Ron leaned over, interested. "And that must have been during the height of the first part of the war, how'd she manage to survive?"

"It was tough, there was a time she and my friend were marked by You-Know-Who himself, but they able to relocate safely to protect their son."

"Seems like the cowards way out," Ron mumbled.

Peter glared at him. "You weren't there. You didn't have to discover loved ones eviscerated remains, or identify their bodies. You never had to go to sleep at night worrying if you'd be murdered before you woke, or fight for your life in skirmishes."

Ron certainly paid attention to that. "Were you in the Order?" He whispered.

Thank Merlin they had gone to a Muggle bar.

"Judging by your cavalier use of the name I assume you are?" Ron nodded. "They are the bravest fighters I know, and the most dedicated to our cause, so I wouldn't go around calling them cowards because they gave up everything to protect their son."

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his bar stool and downed the rest of his pint.

"I don't see you at the meetings." Ron notes, his words beginning to slur.

"I don't go to them anymore. I haven't as much since Dumbledore died, but I'm on reserves if I'm needed."

"I didn't mean what I said about your friends, I'm sure they're great or whatever." Ron apologized, leaning his head against the bar.

"They are. They have a son about your age, I think you'd like him." Peter looked over at Ron's wobbly frame. "Maybe we should get you home."

As they got up, Peter felt lightheaded. It seems his own drinks were catching up to him. Dizzily, he stumbled backwards and into Ron's arms.

Ron laughed. "Has a few too many, little man?"

Peter swatted him playfully. "Oh, shut up."

They were much too drunk to Apparate, and Diagon Alley was too far away to walk, so they settled on taking the Tube to Ron's flat. It was a walk-up in Camden. And by the time they reached it, Peter's Head was splitting.

Ron jiggled the keys. "My flatmate Seamus might be around, but if we're lucky he might be at his girlfriend's and you can sleep it off on the couch."

Much to their disappointment, Seamus was in fact present and bare arsed on the couch with what looked like his girlfriend.

Ron discreetly placed a blanket over them. "You can stay with me in my room for the time being."

Ron's room was very much one of a man who hadn't entirely grown up yet. There were piles of dirty laundry all over the floor, and lopsided posters of the Chudley Canons hanging on the walls. Beside his bed was a nightstand covered in books and a rather battered chess set.

"Do you play?" Peter asked.

Ron grinned, "I dabble. Do you fancy a game?"

"Why not. Any stakes?"

"How about strip chess?"

Peter laughed. "Haven't done that in a while, but playing chess naked is rather boring don't you think?"

"Fair enough, let's raise the stakes. Loser has to give the winner head."

"You're on."

It was the first time Peter was eager to lose at anything, despite doing so quite often.

The next morning wasn't as awkward as it could have been. Peter was mortified of the ethical ramifications of their encounter, and apologized profusely for taking advantage of the younger man.

Ron seemed rather unfazed and asked if he'd like to go out for drinks again later in the week.


	2. The Dinner Party

"Do you think it's too much?"

"No, I think it's perfect. And don't worry, you'll be fine."

Peter has brought a bottle of wine and some flowers. He wasn't sure what was an appropriate gift to give when meeting the parents, especially when they were only a few years older than yourself.

Adjusting his tie, Peter stood tall and knocked on the door.

It flung open as a short and robust woman with Ron's wild red hair barrelled through, separating the two of them and pulling her son into a hug.

"Oh Ronnie, it's so good to see you. We've been waiting forever for you to come. Come in, the food's getting cold."

She glanced over Ron's shoulder to take a look at the diminutive man next to him. Her eyes narrowed.

"You must be Mr. Pettigrew." She looked at the wine disapprovingly. "I'm sorry, but we're having chicken tonight, it won't pair with that."

"Oh, it's my mistake. Please call me Peter." He outstretched his hand for her to shake it. She instead grabbed the flowers.

"Oh Ronnie, these are lovely, I'll put them in some water."

As she rushed back into the house, they exchanged looks.

"She'll come around," Ron said sheepishly.

"It was probably too soon to go public," muttered Peter.

"Having second thoughts?" asked Ron, barely hiding his fear.

"Never," Peter replied with determination. He grabbed Ron's hand and gripped it tightly. "I'd do it all over again if I had to."

The fallout from their affair hadn't been as devastating as it could have been. While their relationship was a breach of power, Ron testified to the Bureau of Magical Being Resources that it was consensual and there was no coercion- and Peter's department had no pull with the Aurors, so he couldn't jeopardize his career. Peter still kept his position, but he had to take an ethics course and temporary probation. It was a bit of a mess having to write his own misconduct report.

The real trouble was from Ron's family. While Ron, the lovable foolish man he was, repeatedly told Peter he loved him, his innumerable siblings and his parents were convinced Peter had seduced him to the path of homosexuality with promises of career advancement.

Couldn't be farther from the truth, Ron had been queer for as long as he could remember, he just hid his identity in broom closets and Quidditch changing rooms.

And Peter, well he had admitted he was bisexual. He did admire women as much as he adored men, he'd even been engaged to a woman in his youth. Ron has wanted to know more about this fact of Peter's life, but he'd clamp down and change the subject.

As they sat down at the long table in Ron's cramped but homey dining room, Peter could feel the eyes of every Weasley baring down on him, Mrs. Weasley's gaze the fiercest of all.

"Ron, please eat up, I made roast chicken, your favorite."

She carved a fat drumstick and placed it on his plate.

As she passed food around to the rest of the family, the silence lessened, each of the siblings' chatter trying to drown out the awkwardness of the whole evening. Arthur seemed to ignore everyone around him and dig in.

One of the twins, Peter wasn't sure which, spoke up. "So, Mr. Pettigrew how long have you and Ron been um…"

"Seeing each other?" Peter finished helpfully. He noticed he hadn't gotten a plate yet.

"Yes, that." the other twin added as if he had asked the question.

"Oh come off it, don't try to put Pete on the spot." Ron complained.

"We're just trying to get to know your boyfriend."

"More like man friend," Ron's sister quipped.

"Ginny!" Percy snapped. "No need to be rude to our guest. We are glad to have you here, Mr. Pettigrew. It's nice to see Ron has associates in high places."

Peter knew of Percy. Was a bit of a brown noser, but knew how to be ruthless when the moment arose. Peter knew the type because he used to be the same. Good kid, but one needed to keep an eye out for the eventual knife he'd strike in his superior's back.

"Can he even reach them, or does he need platform shoes," muttered one of the older ones. Probably Charlie. The other one, probably Bill, chuckled.

"Ron tells me you work at a dragon reserve, what is that like?" Peter asked.

Charlie started cutting his chicken aggressively and shoving it into his mouth. "It's fantastic. Best job in the world. You only have to answer to the dragons."

"Charlie's mad for dragons, practically married to his work," added Bill.

"Better married to the job than having to put in 'overtime' with a boss," joked one of the twins. His emphasis on the word overtime was deliberate. "That's the joy of being your own boss."

"You only have to service yourself," joked the other.

"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley screeched. "We are going to enjoy this dinner as a family and there will be no more talk like that at the table."

"So we're just going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Asked Ron's sister.

"Mr. Pettigrew has every right to be here," Mrs. Weasley replied indignantly. "He's family, and we will treat him as such."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Peter replied quietly.

"Please, call me Molly."

Peter nodded and Molly set out a plate for him. It was mostly scraps at this point, but he gladly accepted it.

"I hear you and Ron are planning a trip sometime soon?" Arthur asked. He had also disapproved of the relationship, but he and Peter had worked together in the Order, back when there still was something that could be called the Order, and their mutual respect remained.

"We are going to France this winter for my friend's wedding anniversary," Peter clarified.

"Is it safe to say that much?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, just saying France won't give away their location. Also your whole family is trustworthy. We have some business we might want to take care of as well, so it will be very productive," Peter exchanged a look with the elder Weasley, who had excused himself from the table.

The children seemed put off by this sudden change but said nothing.

After supper, the children split up into teams and played a round of Quidditch on the grounds while Peter met Arthur at the shed.

"Of all the men in the world, did you really have to go after one of my sons?" Arthur asked in exasperation.

"It seems unlikely, statistically, that none of them would end up with someone you didn't approve of."

"I don't approve of most of their partners. Ginny's boyfriend is a boor, and the less I say about Bill's girlfriend the better."

"That bad?" Peter chuckled.

"Just a bit high strung. Anyway I have the components you need for the radio. Most of them won't be shrink friendly, so you'll have to take a big suitcase if you want to keep the charms on them."

"And the other thing?" Peter asked.

Arthur walked over to the tarp at the edge of the shed and pulled it off, revealing a gleaming fully restored vintage motorcycle. "It works just like it did before."

Peter clapped his hands in delight. "Marvelous! Oh James will be ecstatic when he sees this." Peter wistfully walks towards the motorcycle and runs his hand over the handles. "If only Sirius was around to see it, she was his baby."

"If he was here, he probably wouldn't have let me tear her apart and build her back up again. The flying charms on this are genius. The world lost a brilliant mind." Arthur replied sadly. Peter agreed.

"Thanks for everything, Arthur."

"No problem, just promise me you won't fly this thing to France."

Peter looks gobsmacked, but have a mischievous grin. "Now Arthur, as Assistant Secretary of the DML, I know it's against Ministry protocol to fly an unlicensed vehicle in international airspace."

"Good."

"We'll drive this metal death trap to the coast, and take the ferry across."

Arthur frowned, but still handed him the keys.


	3. The Anniversary

The trip to France had been pleasant enough. Peter drove, Ron sat in the sidecar and gave directions. The winter had been surprisingly light, so there was minimal snow on the ground. By the time they had reached the ferry, they had time to spare.

Ron fiddled with his jacket, Peter places his arm on his shoulder.

"You don't have to be nervous, they'll love you."

Ron gave a nervous smile, and Peter felt weak at the knees. Seeing him so unsure about meeting his friends, even though he dealt with Death Eaters on a daily basis, made Peter realized he truly did love Ron and had to hold onto him at all cost.

After the ferry docked, the continued riding to a Paris, then a little further out. When the reached the Potter's large airy villa, they stopped.

It was an old blue farmhouse with green windows and vines growing around the and mundane animals roamed the grounds and there was a lush garden of flowering plants for Lily's potions.

As they drove onto the stone driveway, Peter undid his helmet and gave it to Ron, who handing him the suitcase.

"Off we go then."

They winded up the long stone driveway and onto the large stone steps to the front door. Peter grabbed the lion shaped knocker and knocked three times, awaiting a response.

"Who is it?" The voice sounded like a young man, tense and ready to strike. His Wnglish was well pronounced, but visibly accented.

"It's Peter Pettigrew."

"What happened did you get me on my fifth birthday?"

Peter laughed, "A kit to make your own living slime. Lily sent me a rather funny howler about how it kept following you around like a pet for weeks."

The voice chuckled, and opened the door. Peter hugged the young thin man with messy black hair and bright green eyes.

"Good to see you, Harry."

Harry smiled and hugged him back. "Good to see you too Peter. This must be that scandalous young man you've been seeing." He winked. "Salut, I'm Henri." He extended his hand. Nervously, Ron shook it.

"Ron Weasley."

"Very English, I know nothing about you and you already seem perfect for each other. Maman's already in the balcon, and Papa's getting some more wine. Should I take your bag?"

"That would be perfect Harry, thanks."

As they entered the house, they were greeted by a beautiful woman in her late forties, tall and statuesque with long fiery red hair. She had the same animated green eyes as her son, and was wearing a form-fitting forest green dress.

"Peter! About time you showed up, we were getting worried." She had two glasses of wine in her hand and handed one to him, another to Ron.

"Oh I'm sorry, I forgot to ask if your friend drank." She said nervously before giving an anxious smile.

"Oh it's fine by me," replied Ron. He took a sip. "This is delicious, what is it?"

"Oh it's something we've had stored in our cellar for special occasions. James and I have been making our own wine for some time, but this is one of our first batches. I've used a few magical varieties of distillation, so it might make you feel a bit giddy but the taste is purely the grapes and the terroir."

"Lily, don't bore the boy with your talk of terroir," replied a man walking out of the study. He was tall, handsome and strode in the room with a quiet confidence. He looked like their son, Henri, only his jaw was a bit more chiseled and his nose a little more crooked. He had a scar running down from his ear to his neck.

"James!" cried Peter. He rushed over and gave him a hug.

"Good to see you too, Pete. It's been too long," James replied wistfully.

"I have a surprise," Peter stated, barely able to hide the excitement in his voice.

James raised his eyebrows. "A surprise? Well you told us about your boyfriend and honestly, it wasn't that shocking."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Come out to the driveway with me, you berk."

To see James's sheer delight at reuniting with Sirius's motorcycle was worth driving over on the long and bumpy roads. He lit up like he was in their school days, and insisted on flying it around the grounds.

Peter and James flew it around the vineyard, the motorcycle only a few inches above the miles of bare vines, waiting for spring.

When they landed, James stores the motorcycle in their barn.

James laughed. "Oh that was mad, but it was so much fun! Sirius never let me drive it you know. No one could touch his baby, never mind I helped troubleshoot some of the landing charms." He looked at the bike with an aching sadness and sniffed, then rubbed his eyes.

"I miss Padfoot too," Peter said quietly. "It won't be the same without him, but he'd be glad we're alive."

James nodded. "You're right, but that doesn't make it any better. Sometimes I wonder if Lily and I did the right thing, leaving all those years ago."

"Hey, you did what was best for Harry. And who knows what would have happened if you stayed? Besides your efforts protecting the Muggleborn refugees have been invaluable. Speaking of which, I brought the radio equipment."

James looked around, then opened a trapdoor underneath the barn. In the cellar was a large studio full of transistors and radios. They climbed down with the suitcase and set up the newer parts to the rig.

"Should we test it out?" James asked.

"You do the honors," Peter insisted.

James placed the headphones over his ears and turned on the machine

"This is the Marauder Radio coming live to Britain. If you can hear this, there's still hope. Any Muggleborns still living in Britain, you are valued and you are not alone. The numbers for this week are as follows: 26337766. Everyone else, you are not abandoned. We need you to rise up and help take the last stand. Help us end this war once and for all. Thank you, and never surrender."

He shut off the broadcast. "Fleur expects we are going to get a few more refugees this week, honestly I'm surprised there's still anyone left."

"Half bloods are starting to be targeted now, now that most of the Muggleborns are gone." Peter replied sadly. "Have you gotten in contact with Remus?"

"He's been doing his best sending people over, but quite a few want to stay and fight. Most of them aren't really equipped to handle it though. Some of them are still expecting the Boy-Who-Lived to come back from the dead."

Peter sighed. While Neville Longbottom's efforts to defeat the Dark Lord has been well documented, in the end he lost the battle at seventeen. It had been the turning point. The Death Eaters thought they had won, but with weakened forces they lost their main source for intimidation and soon enough the Ministry reclaimed its presence in government.

"The Order could use more good men." Peter suggested.

"Yes, but as cannon fodder?" James asked wearily. He took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt. "Let's go in, Lily will be furious if I keep you in the barn all evening away from your date."

Dinner was fantastic, as always. Lily was an excellent cook. By this point, Remus had arrived, and there was a raucous reunion as the three of them reminisced, and the younger guests had to create small talk amongst themselves.

Harry has brought his girlfriend, a beautiful young woman he had known in Beauxbatons, who had recently joined the Potter's in their efforts to smuggle the families of Muggleborns and others deemed Undesirable. While the Ministry was not officially run by the Death Eaters, they had used their time out of the masks to create oppressive laws to quarantine anyone who wasn't ideal, and no matter what was the balance of power shifted that unpleasant disregard of rights remained.

Because of her clout as a Delacour, Fleur has diplomatic immunity, and her presence in the war brought international awareness to the conflict.

Along with Fleur, Harry had invited Dean Thomas, a young Muggleborn boy who had been one of the first to have been smuggled out, and a promising young leader in the resistance. Beside him was one of the newer recruits, Hermione Granger, one of the last Muggleborns to attend Hogwarts.

It seems she and Ron had a history because the two of them were staring daggers at each other.

Ron got up from his chair and gently caressed Peter's hand. "I think I'm going to go lie down, I have a headache." Peter grabbed his hand and kissed it.

"I'll meet you there."

The younger group was beginning to argue in French.

James overheard snippets of dialogue, his interest piqued. "It seems like there was a bit of a history between your boyfriend and Hermione when they were at school."

"Is that so? Ron never mentioned anything."

When he finally came up to the guest room, Ron was angrily unpacking his clothes into the dresser. "Stupid sodding, ugh!"

"What's wrong, love?" Peter asked.

"I should have told you. I knew Hermione, back in school. Initially we weren't on the best of terms. I mean, First year I bullied her to the point of tears."

Surprisingly Peter could relate.

"But Neville convinced me to give her a chance, and we became friends. Towards the end, I think she and Neville sort of thought of me as dead weight. I thought we were a team, but Seventh Year comes along and the two of them are just gone. No goodbyes, nothing. When Neville died, well, I blamed her. Though it probably is her fault." Ron pinched his pillow in frustration. "And now she's here, in France? She just left us to clean up their messes like nothing happened."

"Why did you never tell me?" Peter asked, trying not to feel hurt. He had his secrets too.

"I wasn't ready. I don't think I would have been if I hadn't seen her tonight. I'm so sorry I ruined your evening." Ron said mournfully.

Peter smiled, "You could never ruin my evening, your being here makes my day."

Ron smiled. "I feel like I know nothing about you. Tell me about Sirius, I'm sure you miss him."

"I'm rather tired darling, why don't we just cuddle?" Peter turned off the light and headed to bed.


End file.
